


good things ahead

by reallyros



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Beverly Marsh Loves Ben Hanscom, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Multi, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon, i can’t mentally separate book canon from movie canon anymore but fuck both of them, there’s not rlly a plot okay they just love each other n have Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallyros/pseuds/reallyros
Summary: Bev settles herself comfortably in Ben’s lap, resting her cheek on the top of his head. Mike claps a hand onto her knee, ring shining proudly on his finger as he settles in next to them, and Bill sidles up to him with Eddie tucked into his side. Richie splays out over the both of them and Stan perches on the armrest, socked feet on Richie’s legs and Patty leaning into his shoulder.They watch the news anchors talk on the screen, camera panning in to focus on notable faces in the crowd at Times Square. They’re blazing toward the new year, now, coasting on the buzz of champagne and being together, and Bev’s heart is warm with it, excited for everything to come.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	good things ahead

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh this was 100% gonna die in my drafts but then it became seasonally appropriate so i figured why not
> 
> title from “this year” by the mountain goats because it is the ultimate new years song
> 
> TW: mentions of canon physical/mental abuse w bev and eddie and discussion of the losers’ physical and mental scarring from pennywise. that makes it sound a whole lot darker than it rlly is but jic!!!

Living out in the boonies had taken some adjusting, admittedly. Bev was used to the bustle of Chicago, the people and noise and  _go go go_ of it all. The quiet had been disconcerting, at first. She’d pause, hands frozen above her sketchbook, and wait, head tilted, for any sound, any sign of life. Even after months of getting acquainted with their home base, it still catches her off guard occasionally. She’ll wake up in the middle of the night, curled around Ben in the eerily silent house, and think  _where is everybody?_

They travel frequently enough that she still gets her city fix, still gets the  _lights camera action_ high its always given her. The quiet feels like an oasis, then, after getting back from a hectic show or a trip abroad. A place to decompress, to slow down for a bit. She’s gotten used to it, grown to love it, just like everything else.

The only thing that hadn’t required getting used to was the scenery. She’d taken to it immediately, falling in love with the natural beauty of the landscape. Nebraska is gorgeous, especially on nights like tonight. The trees stand tall in the distance, bare branches reaching up into the sky. Snow blankets the ground, covering the long dead grass in a sheet of white, and the moonlight shines off of it, painting the night in a soft glow that feels almost ethereal, like the fairy stories her mother had read her when she was small.

Bev takes it all in from where she stands at the stove, stirring the sauce and keeping an eye on the bread in the oven. It’s cold out, wind blowing the snow around in big gusts, but the house is warm and bright. She has music playing quietly on their little kitchen speaker, keeping her company, but it isn’t really needed. Tonight the silence feels peaceful, almost soothing, like a comforting weight.

Cue Ben crashing in the front door. She can hear him stomping the snow off his boots on the door mat as the screen door snaps shut behind him, keeping the cold out.

“Expired?” she calls, smiling knowingly. One of the few struggles of rural life that hasn’t gotten better with time: shitty supermarkets. She can almost see the way the corner of his mouth tilts up in response.

“Every single jar.”

“Maybe one day we’ll get a real grocery store.”

“I’ll build one if I have to,” he says, appearing in the kitchen. He sets the grocery bag on the counter, coming up behind Bev to wrap his arms around her waist and press a kiss into her shoulder. 

“Fuck Safeway.” She leans back into the circle of his arms and he muffles a laugh in her hair, pulling her close. They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other.

“Bev?” Ben asks quietly.

“Hm?”

“You know you’re the best thing to ever happen to me?”

She smiles. “You’ve told me once or twice.”

His hand closes over hers on the wooden spoon, squeezing gently. “So please let me finish cooking.”

“No!“ she protests, laughing and batting his hand away. “You’ve been gone for a whole half hour and the house is still standing. I’m doing good.”

“You’re burning the sauce, babe. Can’t you smell it?”

“I thought that was just what it smelled like.”

He gives her a look.

“Extra flavor,” she insists, and he shakes his head, huffing a laugh.

“Out, Marsh,” he says, taking the spoon from her, and she relents.

She steals a kiss before she leaves the kitchen, lingering maybe a second longer than she should with dinner in the process of burning. She grabs her cigarettes and pulls her coat off the rack, heading out to the porch. Ben insists he doesn’t mind her smoking inside, but it doesn’t stop the little twinge in her gut when she thinks about it.

Some ghosts like to linger, it seems.

If anything, sitting outside only makes the view even better. She’s close enough to see the way the snow glitters, icy crystals gleaming under the glow of the porch light, and if she peeks out from under the awning she can see the hundreds of stars twinkling above, no light pollution to dull them. She plops into the rocking chair, pulling her coat tight around her body as she lights up. The others should be showing up any minute now.

Mike had texted into the group chat to ask about celebrating New Year’s together and everyone had immediately jumped onboard, eager for any excuse to see each other. They’d decided on hosting a couple weeks ago, figuring that they were the closest to a “midpoint” between everybody’s homes. Ben had insisted on making dinner from scratch.  _They’ll want something home cooked after spending all that time traveling,_ he’d said, and she hadn’t been able to deny him anything.

She’s just about finished her cigarette when a car pulls into their driveway, and she smiles. He’s always the first to show.

“Stanny!” she calls, walking out to the car.

“Bev!” He pulls her into a hug before stepping back so Patty can do the same. “You look great. Anyone else here yet?”

She raises an eyebrow at him as she leads the two into the house. “On time? Never.”

They others arrive sporadically. Richie shows up alone, Eddie following soon after. “Had to check the hotel,” he explains, pressing a peck to her cheek. Mike and Bill pop in just as Ben finishes dinner.

“S-sorry,” Bill says. “Flight got duh-delayed with all the snow.”

“You’re just in time,” she says, hugging both of them.

“You planning on telling us something, Mike?” Stan asks from behind her, eyebrow raised, and Mike grins.

“I was gonna see how long it took anyone to notice.” He holds up his hand to show off a simple gold band and the room explodes.

“I am so happy for you!” Bev yells over the noise, jumping into the dog pile hug quickly forming over the couple.

“How did he do it? Was it romantic?” Patty asks, and Eddie snorts.

“Have you met Bill?”

Ben appears from the kitchen, looking at them all with his head tilted. “Did I miss something?”

“Big Bill finally popped the question,” Richie says, dramatically wiping at not-so-imaginary tears with an imaginary handkerchief. “They grow up so fast.”

His face lights up and he joins in on the pile, arms wide around all of them. “That’s great, guys.”

“We don’t have a date picked out yet,” Mike says, smile bright, “but we’ll let you know.” 

They break apart for dinner. Bev helps Ben set the table as the others make their plates, passing around bowls and sides. It reminds Bev strikingly of the Jade of the Orient, having them all gathered around again, but significantly better.

“That’s it,” Bill shouts at one point, laughing and brandishing his garlic bread at Richie, “you’re not i-invited to the w-wedding.”

“Fine! I didn’t wanna go to your nerd wedding anyway. Bevvie dah-ling,” he says, reaching out for her, “I’ll be best man at yours, right?”

Bev turns to Ben, poker face firmly in place. “We did put him on the banned list, right?”

“He  _is_ the banned list.”

Richie presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Renewing your vows, Staniel?” he tries, and Stan flips him off without even looking. Patty giggles.

“Well,” he says, straightening up. “I thought I had real friends. Eddie, my love, we’ll just have t-“

“Not a chance, fuckface,” Eddie interrupts, patting his cheek.

Richie sighs. “Give me your phone.”

”What? Why?”

”So I can call up your mom, duh,” Richie says, leaning back in his chair, and Ben chokes on his wine as the table erupts into a chorus of groans and beeps.

_Another benefit of living in the middle of nowhere_ , Bev thinks.  _No noise complaints._

After dinner Ben fiddles with the TV, setting up CNN so that they can watch the ball drop, and then comes back into the dining room to help with dishes.

“You cooked,” Bev argues, shooing him away. “Go socialize.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says good-naturedly, migrating back into the living room with the others.

Eddie offers to help, gathering up plates and carrying them into the kitchen before Bev can stop him. He’s already started washing them by the time she finishes straightening up the dining room, so she grabs a rag and starts drying. They fall into an easy, quick rhythm, knocking out the majority of the mess. 

They’re almost done when she notices him looking out the window, eyes glassy.

“Pretty?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his attention back to the sink. “Very.”

She turns toward him, leaning her hip on the counter. “You okay?”

He starts to make an excuse, she’s sure, but she raises an eyebrow and he sighs, stopping. They all know better than to try bullshitting her. “It’s just weird.”

“What is?”

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Being here.”

_ Being alive,_ he doesn’t say, but she hears it all the same. 

“I mean, Christ, look at this place. Look at you and Ben. After all this shit.”

“We’re happy,” she agrees, and he looks at her, dark eyes full of conviction.

“You deserve it.”

And there it is. She puts down the rag and grabs his hand, squeezing tight. “ _We_ deserve it.”

He squeezes back, looking away. “I’m just not sure when I’ll believe it. That I’m not going to wake up and be back there.”

“There Derry or there-“

“Either,” he says, and then winces. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I know-“

“No,” she interrupts, thinking of the little buckle scars on the backs of her thighs and how they ache, randomly, like phantom blows. She thinks about Derry, how Eddie had said  _my wife wouldn’t let me _ and alarm bells had starting sounding in her head, how she’d tried to catch his eye. “I know it was different. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t awful.“

He squeezes her hand again before letting go, going back to scrubbing a bowl maybe a little too intensely.

He doesn’t break the silence again until they start putting the dishes up. “It really is pretty out here. Quiet, though.”

He’s deflecting, she knows, but she lets him have it for now. “Maybe without you all here,” she teases. “But yeah, it is. I’m a lucky girl.”

“Well  _yeah_ , you’re lucky. You took the hot one,” he shoots back, and she laughs.

“Hell yeah I did.” She glances into the living room. Ben and Mike are pressed close on the couch, reading something on Mike’s phone, and she smiles. “But it’s not just me. Bill took the smart one. Patty took the funny one.”

“Eduardo here just took out the trash,” Richie jokes from the doorway, and Stan rolls his eyes from next to him. 

“And we thank him dearly for his service. Now c’mon, we’re doing a toast.”

They put up the remaining few dishes and file out, spilling into the living room. Eddie smacks Richie’s chest, chiding something like “no self flagellation, asshole,” and Bev grins, nudging him with her hip.  _I’m here_ , it says, and he bumps her gently with his shoulder in response.  _I know.  Me too._

Bill hands out drinks and they clink glasses to the new engagement, whooping when Bill pulls Mike into a kiss.

“When’d it happen?” Bev asks once they’ve all settled down, throwing back her drink. Ben’s got the speaker turned on again, soft music playing comfortingly in the background, and she feels warm and unspooled, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I need details.”

“Last week,” Mike says. “He asked me to come read over a passage for the new book and the ring was sitting on his laptop with a note typed out.”

“You kept it quiet for a whole  _week_?” 

“It was harder than you’d think. Someone,” he gives Bill a significant look, “kept almost slipping up.”

”I w-was excited,” Bill says defensively. “He already had a ring for me too.” He gives Bev his hand and she turns it over to inspect the silver band’s stepped edges and matte finish.

“I’d had it for a while,” Mike says quietly, looking back at him, and Bev knows a moment when she sees one. She pats Mike on the hand and stands up in search of Ben, leaving them to it.

Richie catches her before she gets very far, nabbing her hand and pulling her into a spin.

“Eds won’t dance with me,” he complains, putting a hand on her waist. 

“I wonder why,” she says, but she falls into step with him anyway. They’re offbeat, both trying to lead, and Richie snorts when she tries and fails to dip all six feet of him.

“I will be your best man, won’t I?”

“You  _are_ my best man,” she corrects, and he beams at her.

“You look happy, Bevvie.” He balances the softness of the words with a truly ridiculous twirl, always just this side of irreverent, and she gets a rush of exasperated fondness for him.

“You do too.”

“Oh, yeah, living the dream,” he says, spinning her again. She does the same, laughing as he tries to twist under her arm. “My elderly boyfriend wakes up at the crack of dawn to yell at me about emphysema.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie calls.

“I’m proud of you, honey,” she says softly. “Really.”

“Aw, shucks,” he says, all Voice, and she rolls her eyes fondly.

He gives her a little smile, a  _sorry, I can’t help it_ _,_ and squeezes her hand. “You do too.”

Ben appears behind him before too long, clapping him on the shoulder. “Is now a good time to cut in?”

He makes an indignant noise, dancing Bev away, and she cackles. “You trying to make a move on my girl, Haystack?”

“She’s my fiancé, so yes.” 

_ Fiancé, _ Bev thinks, pride slicing through her unexpectedly.

“I took her on her first date,” Richie counters.

“ _We_ took her on her first date. I was there too.”

“Maybe I was really trying to take you out, handsome,” he says, releasing Bev with a wink. “Fine, go be disgustingly cute. I’ll be over here drinking alone.”

Bev swats at him. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure Bill would love to dance with you.”

Richie’s eyes light up. “I knew you were my favorite for a reason.  _Billiam_ ,” he calls, floating into the kitchen, and Ben gives her a look as she pulls him close.

“That was mean.”

“He’ll survive,” she says, twining her arms around his neck.

He must’ve turned up the music at some point because it seems louder, mixing in with the voices of the news anchors on the TV. It’s getting later, closer to midnight, and she watches over Ben’s shoulder as the crowds pack into Times Square, bundled up in their winter coats and fluffy hats. 

They sway slowly around the living room, passing in and out of the other Losers’ conversations.

“The place looks amazing,” Stan tells her at one point. She’s been experimenting with interior design, adding different accent colors, and it does look more lived in than it did when it was just Ben’s.

_I built the house_ , he’d said once,  _but Bev made it a home._

_Home_ ,  Bev had thought, wondering at it. “You should let me do yours next time we’re in town. Georgia peach theme. I’ll get a bunch of those cabinet organizers you like.”

He smiles easily, looking over to where Patty, Eddie, and Mike are talking on the couch. “You’re always welcome, but we’re covered, theme-wise. We’re just tacky.”

“Tacky?”

“Yeah, Patty loves it. She has a bunch of ceramic f-“

Patty points at him from across the room. “You leave my boys alone, Stanley Uris.”

“Wait, the little fishermen statues?” Mike asks. “My mom collected those.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Stan says lightly, watching as the two of them chatter excitedly, and Bev hides her grin in Ben’s shoulder.

She watches as more people crowd into frame on the TV screen, huddling together in the New York cold. Richie and Bill spin past them at one point, Richie’s chin on Bill’s head and both of them cracking up. They’re blazing toward the new year, now, coasting on the buzz of champagne and being together. The music changes, the twang of guitars giving way to some synth-heavy 80’s shit that was popular when they were kids, and Bev ignites. She pulls Ben around, swaying a little quicker and laughing when he steps on her feet. It’s not good dancing, not by a long shot, but there are big, warm hands on her hips and she finds that she couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

He leads her into a spin, smiling shyly when she smacks a kiss to his cheek, and it clicks, like it sometimes does, that she has  _Ben_. Ben who’d taken on his biggest nightmare all those years ago because he called Bev a dirty name, Ben who saw her tangled rope of hair and thought  _January embers_.  Ben who kept her yearbook signature in his wallet for the better half of three decades, who to this day leaves her little haikus on sticky notes around the house. Ben who lets her pick the music in the truck and laughs when she sings the words wrong. Ben who builds homes, clubhouses in the Barrens and mansions in rural America and idylls in the warm crook of his neck, havens in the strong circle of his arms.  _Her_ Ben, sure as the ring on her finger and the stretch of Nebraska plain outside.

“I love you,” she says, just to watch the way his eyes light up, and he mumbles his response into the skin of her temple.

“Two m-minutes, guys,” Bill calls, disentangling himself from Richie, and Ben lets her pull him over to the couch.

She settles herself comfortably in his lap, resting her cheek on the top of his head. Mike claps a hand onto her knee, ring shining proudly on his finger as he settles in next to them, and Bill sidles up to him with Eddie tucked into his side. Richie splays out over the both of them and Stan perches on the armrest, socked feet on Richie’s legs and Patty leaning into his shoulder.  _Gang’s all here._

They watch the news anchors talk on the screen, camera panning in to focus on notable faces in the crowd. Stan leans to the side, stretching to whisper something in Eddie’s ear, and Bev watches as the aged white scars on the edges of his face make themselves known. She thinks, suddenly, of Stan bursting into tears outside Neibolt, shaking and sobbing as they all tried to comfort him, and of the little circular burn scars hiding under the collar of her blouse. The  _H_ carved into Ben’s soft stomach, jagged under her careful fingertips, and the gnarled patch of skin on Eddie’s cheek. She thinks of the wounds they can’t see, the way that Richie calls her sometimes and asks her to just sit on speakerphone with him, how Mike has to sit facing the door. Patty’s nervous eyes, always coming back to rest on Stan, and the slight, trembling pause before Bill speaks, and her heart aches for them, for the gang of stupid kids that took on something awful and for the adults that they grew into. 

She knows that when the night ends, when everyone heads back to their hotels and rented beds, she’ll have nightmares. She’ll startle awake in the middle of the night, blinking visions of the deadlights from her eyes. She’ll reach out for Ben with shaking hands, pulling him close in the dark, and if her fingers brush the scar on his abdomen he’ll flinch away even in his sleep. She knows that Mike’s worried wrinkles will get deeper, that Eddie will wait to brush his teeth until Richie can come into the bathroom with him. She knows that Bill will pour out pages and pages of fear late into the night and that Stan will get anxious on the dark drive home and think of  _robins, finches, bluejays, robins, finches, bluejays. _

They’re happy, now, huddled together in the warm, bright house, booze and celebration and  _light_ thrumming through them, but it’s not always so easy.  _You don’t go through all that and come_ _out scot free_ , Mike had told her once. _Especially not twice. Especially not with everything in between._

“Bev? You in there?” Ben asks, startling her. He puts a careful hand on her arm, gentle as always, and something inside her quiets.

_But_ , she thinks, looking at Ben. Her fiancé, her _home_ , after all these years.  _We survived_. It’s a conviction, a  benediction, the truth of it hitting hard enough to make her ribs creak. It sits in her mouth like a  _fuck you_ ,  proud and dangerous.  _We survived_.

“Yeah,” she says quickly, wanting to soothe the worry from his eyes. She’s spacey, sometimes, a symptom of the deadlights, and she knows it makes him nervous. “Just thinking. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, like he always does, and she smiles.

_ Now we get to live,_ something tells her, and her chest swells with it.

“Ten!” Bill shouts, leading the charge, and they all join in, counting down the precious seconds.

“Nine, eight,” Stan catches her eye, laughing and ducking behind Patty as Richie tries to ruffle his hair.

“Seven, six,” Eddie grabs Richie’s hands, rolling his eyes but not letting go, pointedly ignoring Bev’s knowing look.

“Five, four, three,” Mike takes his hand off her knee and puts it on the back of Bill’s neck, pulling him close.

“Two!” Bev turns toward Ben, cupping his face in her hands.

“One,” he whispers, letting her pull him in for a kiss. His lips are chapped from the cold, cracked and dry, but his smile more than makes up for it. She dips in for another, pressing closer. Someone wolf whistles from the other end of the couch and she flips them off, laughing into Ben’s mouth.

Outside, loud pops ring through the quiet plains as fireworks explode, painting the dark expanse of sky with blues and golds and pinks that reflect off the icy ground. The snow melts in patches where people have lit rockets and firecrackers, revealing the grass underneath. It’ll be a while before it springs up again, months of long winter ahead, but the promise is there.

Inside, with Ben wrapped around her and her family by her side, Beverly thinks of the new year.

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic was actually just an elaborate set up for me to complain about safeway
> 
> feel free to yell at me on twitter @reallyreallyros and i hope everyone has a great new year <3


End file.
